


Run From the Battles

by GilliganGoodfellow



Series: Jaskier’s Monster [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Archive warnings apply to chapter 2, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is BAMF for about 12 seconds, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion gets a hug, Lambert can see right through Geralt, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, SHE IS NOT SORRY, gilligan probably breaks canon, pappa vesemir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22428016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: During a bandit attack, Jaskier makes his first kill
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier’s Monster [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606360
Comments: 66
Kudos: 1203
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Directionally_Challenged whose comment on Quen is the Shield Sign inspired the "Swallow" scene :-)

_ “GERALT!” Jaskier moves without thinking, rushing into the carnage and grabbing a sword from one of the fallen bandits. He raises it and immediately rolls as one of the still living bandits swings for him. Coming to his feet, Jaskier throws his arm forward out of instinct, gasping as he feels the sword meet resistance that quickly gives way.  _

_ He looks up into the shocked, wide eyes of the bandit he has just killed.  _

_ Murdered.  _

_ Defended himself from.  _

_ Murdered.  _

* * *

It’s the beginning of spring in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt is not the only Witcher who has been making the fortress his home during the cold months. 

“Okay.” Jaskier looks from the pestle and mortar to the book he is reading. “Mix the celandine in with the...brains...and mush.” He starts mixing the ingredients together, forming a paste in the bowl. “Oh this bit stinks.”

“What were you expecting drowner brains to smell like?” The Witcher who speaks is called Lambert, and he is sitting on a wall overlooking the tiny outside table where Jaskier has set up shop for the morning. 

“You would think maybe the flowers would...oh.” Jaskier starts coughing, which causes Lambert to laugh. “Oh that’s bad.”

“I did suggest not breathing.”

Jaskier glares at the witcher, and then carries on working, slowly adding spirit to the mixture as he does so. After a good few minutes, during which time Lambert finds himself dozing as he leans against the building behind him, Jaskier starts spooning the mixture into the bottle.

“What’s this?” Geralt asks as he approaches them. 

“Ah.” Lambert greets Geralt with a nod. “Your pet bard fancies himself as an alchemist.”

“It’s hardly alchemy.” Jaskier says. “It’s mixing basic ingredients.”

“This is his fourth attempt.”

“SHUT UP.” Jaskier shouts. “It’s tricky to get the mixture right.” He looks at Geralt. “And this will be my final attempt.” 

“It will need to be.” Lambert smirks. “You just used the last of the celandine.”

Geralt crosses his arms. “Jaskier, why are you using up the celandine?”

“If I master this recipe, then I can make potions for you in the field. Maybe learn some basic medical skills too, like how to patch up wounds. A few more feathers in the ‘Jaskier is not useless’ hat.”

Geralt glares at Lambert.

“It was a FRIENDLY suggestion.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt looks from the Witcher to the bard. “You’re not useless.”

“You are correct, because I can make…” He holds up the bottle. “Swallow.”

Lambert holds out his hand, catching the bottle as Jaskier throws it. He uncorks, sniffs the contents and nods. Then, to the surprise of all present, he drinks the potion whole.

“Woh.” Jaskier mutters.

Even Geralt is wide eyed. “Awfully trusting of you, Lambert.”

“Ah…” The Witcher coughs as he gets out a dagger. “Worst case scenario the bard kills me.” Lambert scratches at his hand with the dagger tip, and before Geralt’s eyes the cut immediately begins to heal. 

“Good work, Jaskier.” Geralt says, smiling. 

Jaskier gives a small laugh as he looks back down at the table, and his face falls. “Urgh, drowner brains everywhere.” 

“Are you going to be making more potions?” Geralt asks.

“Maybe just this one for now.” Jaskier smiles. “Shame it only works on Witchers. Swallow would be useful in the bard trade too.”

“Yes, Jaskier.” Geralt nods. “That dangerous, life threatening bard trade.”

“You laugh.” Jaskier holds up an index finger, before reaching for a cloth at the end of the table. “You’ve never been on stage in Novigrad.” He begins to clean the pestle and mortar. “Picture the scene, I’m sharing the performance with the beautiful and talented Callonetta, and suddenly someone throws a blade wielding tomato at the stage.”

Geralt squints.

“I know. A tomato, covered in little blades.” He finishes his cleaning, putting the pestle and mortar back on the table. “Someone actually sat in a workshop and thought ‘do you know what’s missing from this world? Weaponized vegetables’.”

“Fruit.” Lambert mutters.

“Anyway, Callonetta picked the bloody thing up and tossed it right back at the man.”

“Good girl.” Geralt says. 

“The Ushers didn’t agree.” Jaskier widened his arms. “Carnage ensued worthy of songs.”

Both Witcher’s share a glance, before chuckling. 

Jaskier looks back at the table. “Right. Guess I’m going flower picking, then. You need more celandine.”

Geralt looks at Lambert.

“No.”

Geralt nods.

“No.”

Geralt glares.

Lambert rolls his eyes, looking at the clouds as he gives a performance worthy of the aforementioned stage. “WE…”

Geralt narrows his eyes.

“...shall of course accompany you as bodyguards on this noble quest.” He holds his hand to the sky for effect, and jumps down from the wall.

“Two Witchers protecting me.” Jaskier smiles. “Well I do feel special.”

Lambert gives Geralt a shit eating grin as the bard walks past them, and the witcher groans. 

It’s going to be a long day. 

He turns to watch as Jaskier walks towards Roach, patting the horse on the side of the neck as she enjoys her breakfast. 

Jaskier’s progress has been remarkable since arriving at Kaer Morhen in the winter. This was largely thanks to the personal attention of Vesemir, who had proven to be quite adept at helping the young bard, as Geralt had suspected when deciding to bring Jaskier here. 

Not to say that Jaskier had been without challenges.

Geralt can’t help but close his eyes as he remembers the worst day so far. Jaskier had been at his lowest, brought to tears just by the effort of sitting up in his bed. All Geralt could do was hold him that day. Hold him all day and into the night, letting Jaskier rest against him as he alternated between bouts of quiet crying and dozing, before finally falling asleep all together.

“I’ve never seen him that bad.” Geralt whispered. 

“I know it’s hard.” Vesemir had said. “But remember, Geralt. He’s LIVING this. He can’t run away. You shouldn’t either. However hard it gets, he needs you.”

Geralt didn’t leave, and having hit rock bottom, Jaskier started to climb back up again, slowly regaining his strength and former enthusiasm over the following weeks. He had even started to compose again. 

And now here was smiling, happy Jaskier, talking to Roach and getting ready to pick flowers, of all things. Geralt can’t help the fond smile.

“Thank you.” He says as Vesemir approaches him from behind. 

“Work’s not done yet.” Vesemir crosses his arms, speaking as if addressing the bard directly. “You’re too good at that mask, aren’t you Julian?”

“Mask?”

“Keep an eye on him, Wolf.” Vesemir pats the witcher’s arm. “He’s made progress, but he’s not as recovered as he would like us to believe. His persona now is as much a performance as his songs.”

“Why?” Geralt looks at Vesemir, confused. “He knows he doesn't need to hide from us?”

“He KNOWS that we want him to recover. And he values the happiness of his friends.” Vesemir smiles. “Remember, Geralt. He was probably ill long before he let you see it. You found out because he no longer had the strength to pretend. And now he has that strength back. And one more habit to break.” 

Geralt nods. 

“Don’t push him, Wolf. Wait. We will need to be there when he lets us back in.”

“You joining us this year, Geralt?” Lambert shouts as he hands Jaskier a large herbalist bag, which the bard puts over his shoulder.

Geralt hums, and crosses the yard to join them, while Vesemir watches. 

* * *

_ Blood pours from the corner of the bandit's mouth as his insides shatter around the sword, and Jaskier pulls it back, gasping as the bandit falls at his feet, choking out more blood. He dies on the cold ground.  _

_ Murdered by Jaskier.  _


	2. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kudos and comments so far <3 you are too kind.

They find the celandine quickly, thanks to Witcher senses. While they are there they harvest other flowers and herbs as well, soon filling Jaskier’s bag.

“Maybe I could teach you some things too?” Jaskier is saying. “The lute. Would you like to learn the lute?”

“No.” Geralt says. 

“Or maybe the flute?”

Geralt stops, glaring at him. 

“Drums?”

“What is to learn about banging a drum?”

“What...the. Geralt, the drum is the most important instrument. It keeps the pace for the other musicians. You carry the song. Guide the dancers. Ensure the audience knows when to clap along.” He claps his hands twice while dancing on the spot. 

Lambert chuckles under his breath.

“Honestly, Geralt. I’m making the effort here to learn about your world. You could at least TRY to learn SOMETHING about mine.”

“Such as how to defend myself from blade wielding tomatoes.” Geralt says, after a moment.

Jaskier shakes his head.

Geralt suddenly stops walking, eyes narrow for a moment before closing as he listens. 

“What?” Lambert asks, before he hears it too. 

“Hello?” Jaskier says after a long moment. “Remember me? Your friend that doesn’t have Witcher senses.”

“There’s a camp.” Geralt says. “Other side of those trees.”

“All the way out here.” Jaskier says. “But there isn’t a settlement for miles?”

“Could be deserters hiding from Nilfgaard.” Geralt says. “Or worse.”

“They’re on our land.” Lambert says, matter of factly as they make their way through the trees.

“Wait here.” Geralt says. 

“Bollocks.” Jaskier snaps back, following them. 

Geralt shakes his head. “Me or Lambert tell you to run, you don’t stop until you’re at Kaer Morhen.”

The bard nods, following them out into the clearing. 

The camp is more like a tent village, the bandits all armed as they slowly realise their visitors, standing to greet them. 

“Morning.” Lambert says.

“This is our land.” Geralt says, quietly. “We can offer protection for a few nights, but we do not have the resources for lasting asylum.”

“Asylum.” One of the bandits, the leader most likely, steps forward while laughing. The others laugh behind him until he speaks again. “We look like refugees to you? Came because of rumours of an abandoned castle in these parts.”

Jaskier grits his teeth, feeling the tension build between Geralt and Lambert.

“Leave.” Geralt says, quietly. “We pretend we never saw you. You pretend you never found this place. Everyone lives.”

“Or, we kill you and take your poxy castle, witcher.” The bandit spits. “No army there our scouts saw, so the way I see it, it’s a handful of you against all of us.” He shakes his head, and raises his sword as his companions join him, cheering.

“Yeah.” Jaskier shakes his head. “You don’t actually have good odds there.”

“Oh let them find out the fun way.” Lambert quips.

“Leave now.” Geralt says. “Go back the way you came.”

“Fuck you, Whoreson.” The bandit leader shouts, and rushes forward. 

“Jaskier, RUN.” Geralt shouts, drawing his steel sword in an almost synchronised movement with Lambert as they stand back to back, the bandits forming a circle around them.

Jaskier darts behind a tree and watches as the fight begins. The Witchers move with ferocious speed, cutting five men down before Jaskier can even look away. He looks back as Geralt turns to face the leader, but in doing so, he doesn’t see another bandit behind him.

The sword hits Geralt in the shoulder, forcing a cry from the Witcher as blood flies from the wound. 

“GERALT!” Jaskier moves without thinking, rushing into the carnage and grabbing a sword from one of the fallen bandits.

Jaskier’s world becomes a pulse. 

_‘Keep your eye on the enemy.”_

He raises the sword.

_‘Dodge.’_

He rolls to the side as one of the still living bandits, the one that cut Geralt, swings for him. Coming to his feet. 

‘ _Wait for them to start their attack.’_

The bandit is running at him.

‘ _Counter.’_

Jaskier throws his arm forward out of instinct, gasping as he feels the sword meet resistance that quickly gives way. 

He looks up into the shocked, wide eyes of the man he has just killed. 

Murdered. 

Defended himself from. 

Murdered. 

Blood pours from the corner of the man’s mouth as his insides shatter around the sword, and Jaskier pulls it back, gasping as the bandit falls at his feet, choking out more blood as he dies on the cold ground. 

Murdered. 

And all Jaskier can see are the bandit’s eyes as they stare at their killer. 

Murderer.

The sword burns in Jaskier’s hand. He drops it. He can feel the blood droplets on his face scratching like nettles against his skin.

He sees the movement out of the corner of his eye. 

Sword. 

And Jaskier is flying. He slides along the ground, his lungs empty. The last dredges of the telekinetic blast burn through his limbs as he sits up. Geralt is now fighting Jaskier’s would be killer. Now dead, Geralt’s sword through his neck. 

The silence that follows the last clash of steel against flesh is alien. It feels like it doesn’t belong.

“Well, that was fun.” Lambert cleans his sword on the grass and puts it back in its sheath. “Nothing like some violence to wake up the mind on a slow day.”

Geralt isn’t listening, instead he marches past Lambert, grabbing Jaskier by his clothing and dragging him up to his feet.

He turns the bard, holding him so that there are only inches between their faces, eyes. 

“Dammit, Jaskier, you idiot. I tell you to run, you FUCKING RUN!” Geralt shouts into Jaskier’s face. “You hear me?”

Jaskier doesn’t answer. 

“This isn’t a GAME. This isn’t just material for your fucking songs. This is LIFE and DEATH, and you stay OUT of the battles. You RUN when I tell you. If Lambert hadn’t used Aard in time you would be DEAD right now, you understand?”

“I’m…”

“Geralt…” Lambert rests a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder, which if nothing else means that Geralt’s anger is now aimed at him. 

He lets go of Jaskier’s clothes as he growls at Lambert. “He could have been KILLED.”

“But thanks to me, you’re welcome by the way, he wasn’t. In fact, your bard bagged HIMSELF a kill.” Lambert points at the bandit with his foot. Jaskier’s victim.

Geralt growls again as he turns from Lambert back to Jaskier, and his features immediately soften. “Jaskier?”

The bard is pale, his skin clammy. He’s breathing but only barely. And when Geralt reaches for him again, Jaskier flinches so hard that it sends him toppling back to the ground, knees to his chest, arms held in front of him defensively. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt kneels in front of the bard, reaching out and gently resting his fingertips against the back of Jaskier’s hand, which earns a whimper from the bard. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Right, because he believes that right now.” Lambert scolds quietly, before looking around at the bandits. “Better deal with this. Last thing we want is monsters moving in.”

“Look at me, Jaskier. Breath” Geralt whispers, and the bard lowers his arms slightly, wide blue eyes fixed on Geralt’s own. He listens to Geralt’s deep breaths, and slowly starts to match them. And when Geralt reaches for him again, resting a protective hand on his shoulder, the bard doesn’t flinch.

“I’m sor...I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have shouted.” Geralt shakes his head. “You SHOULD have run, but you did well. I saw. You remembered the things Vesemir taught you.”

Jaskier nods, shakily, and a weak smile comes to his face that is clearly forced, but Geralt doesn’t say anything. 

Fire erupts behind Geralt, and he looks over his shoulder to see the bodies burning. The flames don’t take long to do their work. Lambert is efficient when it comes to destroying things.

Geralt turns back to Jaskier, and they sit in quiet, one breathing, the other following, connected by the gentle touch of the witcher’s hand against the bard’s shoulder.

“Jas.” Lambert says from behind Geralt. “Come here.”

Coming out of his half trance, Jaskier looks from Geralt to Lambert and then back again, before Geralt takes his hand and they stand together. The bard nods before taking a step towards the other witcher.

And the dead bandit at his feet. 

“You killed this man.” Lambert has a gentleness to his voice that Geralt has never heard from the witcher before. He suspects that no one on the continent has.

Geralt also notices that the blood has been cleaned as much as possible from the bandit’s face, and the eyes have been closed. He looks like he’s asleep, laid on his back, hands folded at his abdomen. 

“If you leave him here, a monster will come.” Lambert is saying. “Ghoul maybe. It’ll shred his body, eat him piece by piece. Do you think he deserves that?”

Jaskier shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the bandit’s face. 

“No one does, whatever they were in life. It’s your responsibility now to show him respect.” Lambert nods, kneeling down.

Kneeling, Jaskier takes one last look at the face. He was a young man, maybe Jaskier’s age or a bit younger. A scar on his cheek. Jaskier reaches down, flinching as his fingers touch the flesh on the forehead.

“He tried to kill you. You did what you had to do.” Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand, resting it so that the bard’s palm is on the top of the Witcher’s fingers. “Ready.”

Jaskier nods, and Geralt starts the fire, slowly spreading it from the feet to the head, Jaskier’s hand moving with his. 

As the fire builds up, both Witchers help to move the bard to a safe distance, and Geralt’s hand returns to its now familiar perch on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you home.”


	3. Business Arrangement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words and kudos <3 <3

The fire is going in the main hall, which gives Geralt something to focus on as he sits shirtless, trying not to give in to anger.

“Nearly done.” Lambert finishes tending to the wound on Witcher’s shoulder. “You got lucky. Doubt it will even scar that bad.”

“What’s one more?” Geralt mutters. “I should be with Jaskier.”

“He’s fine.” Lambert says dismissively. “Gone back to making his potions. Vesemir’s watching him.” The Witcher is quiet for a moment. “He did good today.”

“The idiot shouldn’t have been there.” Geralt mutters. “I never said thank you. You saved his life.”

“Wow.” Lambert huffs. “Geralt of Rivia actually giving a damn about someone that isn’t a horse.”

Geralt looks at Lambert over his shoulder, a warning in his eyes. 

“Don’t play that card, Geralt. I’VE seen the way you look at him.”

“It’s a business arrangement.” Geralt quickly looks back towards the fire. “I fight. He sings. We both find fame and there’s more gold.”

“And that’s why you ran straight to ‘Pappa Vesemir’ as soon as he got sick. Because he’s a business arrangement.”

“I knew I would need help. Vesemir came to mind first.”

“And that isn’t a sign of you caring?” Lambert says, leaning forward so he can look at Geralt’s face. “World is full of bards, Geralt. Nothing to stop you from just getting another one if all this is is business?”

“He…” Geralt looks down. “The way the illness affects his mind. The things it makes him think. Feel. Someone like Jaskier doesn’t deserve that suffering.” Geralt tests the movement in his shoulder as he stands and puts his shirt back on. “It’s an injustice.

Lambert collects together the medical supplies. “Well, he’s back in his little outdoor workshop.”

The Witcher is silent as he steps outside, returning to the spot where Jaskier had been working that morning. He finds the bard alone, mixing more ingredients in a pestle and mortar. His expression is blank, unreadable.

But Geralt can see that he is trembling ever so slightly, exhausted with the effort of holding everything in.

The Witcher announces his presence with a sigh. “I thought Vesemir was with you?”

“I’m not an infant.” Jaskier looks at Geralt, then back down at the ingredients. “He’s gone to the washroom if you MUST know.”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” Jaskier says the sentence far too quickly for Geralt’s liking. “Just needed to catch my breath. I’ve never been in a fight like that before.”

“You’ve never killed someone before.”

Jaskier doesn’t look up, but he also slowly puts down the pestle and mortar. “You know, I’ve just been the last hour fighting off questions from Vesemir, Geralt. I’m tired. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it or think about it. It was one kill, and my companions are three Witchers with a body count between them that would empty Cintra. So there’s really no need to fuss.”

Geralt says nothing.

“I just want to make some potions, eat food later, maybe practice some songs, and then go to bed.” His voice cracks ever so slightly. “Start again tomorrow.”

“Jaskier?”

“I wonder if adding sugar to this would be alright? To make it taste better. Who says medicine needs to taste horrible all the time? Do we have sugar?”

“Jaskier?”

“WHAT!” He slams the aparatus down. “What do you want me to say? How I see his face every time I close my eyes? And other faces. I see a woman or a man, waiting for him to come home. Looking at the empty half of the bed.”

Geralt nods, approaching the bard. 

“Maybe children, waiting for their father and he won’t BE THERE. And what if without his coin, they’re on the streets. People don’t just exist in a bandit camp, Geralt. They have a LIFE that brings them there, and he would have had family, friends, hobbies, things he liked, disliked. And I took it away, because...why?” He hits Geralt’s chest with his fist. “WHY? Because I decided that I deserved to live MORE? I didn’t even know him.” He hits Geralt again. “But I decided that he didn’t deserve to live but I did. I bought.” 

Hit. 

“MY.” 

Hit. 

“Life with.” 

Hit. 

“His.”

Geralt takes each blow, waiting for Jaskier to exhaust himself before carefully taking hold of his hands. “That’s not how this works, Jaskier.”

“I don’t have a family. I don’t have a home or a life. I’m a FUCKING bard.” He huffs. “That’s a lie. I do have a family. It’s just I would sooner run through a Drowner nest, then see them again. I’m sure the feelings mutual. I was never good enough for them. I’ve never belonged anywhere.”

Jaskier laughs, sadely. “I’m sorry. I mean, moaning about MY unhappy childhood. I wasn’t getting mutated into a Witcher.” He shakes his head. “Fuck, you must think I’m pathetic.” 

“I don’t. And this isn’t about me.” Geralt encourages Jaskier’s hands away from his face. “I’m not you. And I had Vesemir growing up. I’ve always belonged here, in Kaer Morhen. I’m sorry you didn’t have something like that in your life, too.”

Jaskier sniffs. “There was the college, I suppose.”

“Maybe we can go there for a while?” Geralt says. “If it will help? I’m sure there’s plenty for a Witcher to do in Oxenfurt.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Or stay here.” Geralt looks over Jaskier’s head to see Vesemir standing on the steps. 

The older Witcher approaches them. “You will never be a Witcher, young man, but as far as I am concerned you have become a student of this school. You belong here, if you choose to.”

The effect that small statement has on Jaskier is clear on his face as he turns to face Vesemir. “Thank you.”

“Let us back in, Jaskier.” Geralt says. “Please. Let us help you.”

“I want...” Jaskier shakes his head. “I want to I just…” He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “No. I’m fine. I just need to sleep. I’m fine.” He turns away from them, heading back towards the table. “I need to finish here.”

“What are you afraid of, Julian?”

He looks up, eyes wide. Geralt doesn’t think he’s ever looked younger. “That if I fall apart now, I won’t stop. I’ll just fall and fall and I won’t be able to stop it this time. It’s worst than it’s ever been. I won’t stop. I won’t be able to fight it.”

“Then don’t.” Geralt whispers, his hand rested on Jaskier’s back. “We’re Witchers, Jaskier. Let us do the fighting.”

“I can’t...I can’t burden you again. Not with this. It’s selfish. No...I just...”

“Let us look after you.” Vesemir says, his voice as quiet as he reaches forward, a hand on the back of Jaskier’s head. “You won’t be a burden. We are choosing to be here for you.”

Geralt nods.

“I tried.” The bard’s voice is small. “I tried so hard.”

“We know.” Vesemir says. “But it’s time to stop trying, now. Stop fighting.”

Geralt takes his hand. 

“Jaskier, run.”

“I...I didn’t...I…” His voice breaks completely and Jaskier falls, collapsing against Vesemir as he descends into sobs so harsh that they are almost screams, robbing him of air. He cries so hard and so suddenly that he forgets why he is crying for a moment, his mind jarred out of focus as he finally runs from the battle.

“That’s it, young man.” Vesemir doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t sigh. He simply wraps the bard in a fatherly embrace as they sink to the ground, one arm around his back, the other rested in Jaskier’s hair. 

Geralt kneels with them, his hands on Jaskier’s back and shoulder as he whispers in the bard’s ear. “It’s okay.”

Jaskier loses track of time as he cries, not just for the man he killed but for everything. For the exhaustion of fighting through every day, only to sleep and wake up to the fight renewed. He cries for the little boy sitting alone, wishing he was loved. Then, surprisingly or maybe not, he finds himself crying for Geralt and his trials as a Witcher growing up. Then he cries for Filavandrel, because he feels guilty for not crying for him before. 

He cries for that guilt. 

The guilt of how he lives a warm life with a roof over his head and food in his stomach, a life that many would kill for (do kill for) and still his mind won’t make it enough for happiness to be his default.

And then, he finds himself crying because Jaskier feels worse than he thinks he has felt in a long time. Every single one of his carefully constructed mental walls and masks have collapsed, worn down by time and then destroyed completely by the face of a bandit with a scar on his cheek. 

Jaskier cries because he can’t remember what colour the bandit’s eyes were. He can only see them as red. 

And finally, Jaskier cries because he has never felt safer or warmer than in this moment. But this moment, this safety he is feeling now, this warmth, this father and this...he isn’t sure what Geralt is now. A friend? A brother? More? Or maybe there is no label. Maybe they are just Geralt and Jaskier, and maybe that is okay except that it isn’t because Jaskier knows that he can’t stay here like this forever. And he wants to, so badly. He wants to stay in this bubble where he doesn’t have to fight and he is held and warm and protected. 

And loved.

But soon Geralt will stop whispering. Soon Vesemir will let go. And this will end and he doesn’t want it to. 

He doesn’t want it to. 

Jaskier becomes aware of a fourth man being present as a blanket is carefully wrapped around his shoulders, one of the hands placing it lingering on the top of his head. 

The hand moves, and Jaskier hears someone climb up to sit on the table. A silent guard.

Jaskier’s head hurts. His entire body aches, and he can’t breath through his nose anymore. Vesemir and Geralt are still there, and the air is darker...colder. Some candles have been brought out, providing light to the area. 

The blanket keeps Jaskier warm and he slowly realises that Vesemir’s breathing has slowed. The bard recognises the rhythm. The old witcher is meditating. Sleeping without sleeping. And for how long? Jaskier has witnessed Geralt meditate from one sunrise to another before.

He finds himself relaxing further, safe in the knowledge that while yes this will end eventually, it isn’t ending just yet. He can stay here.

A hand touches his cheek. 

“Are you in pain?” Geralt says, softly. “Cold?”

Jaskier gently shakes his head. Between Vesemir’s embrace, Geralt’s gentle touches and the blanket that Lambert has given him, he doesn’t think he’s ever been warmer. But...he closes his eyes. 

“Headache?”

Jaskier nods, slowly. 

“I’ll go find something to help.”

“No I’ll go.” Lambert jumps down from the table. “Stay with him.”

Geralt turns back to Jaskier. “How do you like that?” He says, quietly. “Even Lambert is playing nursemaid.”

Jaskier’s eyes crack open, and he reaches out, bringing Geralt’s hand into a weak grip.

“We gave those bandits today every chance to walk away.” Geralt says. “They chose to attack. And the man you killed, he chose to strike me, and to try and kill you. He gave you no choice. And if he had killed you, I doubt he would have given you a second thought. Would have spat on your corpse and left you for the ghouls.”

Jaskier trembles, and Geralt adjusts the blanket around him.

“But you’re different. You respected him, you’re crying for him now. I’m not saying that man deserved to die, but you will always deserve to live. You’re kind, gentle, and you care about the happiness of the people around you. You’re something that is rare in this world. It reminds me why I fight monsters. All of them. It isn’t just for gold. It’s to protect people like you. Your innocence, your...light.” Geralt huffs with amusement. “You’re turning me into a poet.”

“If you call that poetry.” Jaskier has a small smile on his face, but it quickly fades. “I’m not innocent though?”

“You didn’t kill that man because you wanted him to die. Defending yourself doesn’t make you a killer. Or a monster. Do you understand. He made the choice, not you.”

Jaskier nods and, mindful of the older man he is leaning against, sits up. Geralt moves to sit with his back against the wall, and lets Jaskier into his lap, the bard’s head against his chest as he holds him.

Smiling, Vesemir adjusts his position to a proper meditation pose, and his breathing deepens again.

Geralt relaxes. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you some more potions.”

Jaskier nods slowly, his eyes falling closed again.

“And maybe I’ll let you teach me some things too.”

And that brings the small smile back to Jaskier’s face.

Geralt adjusts his hold, securing the bard against him as he looks up at the darkening sky. He finally allows himself to feel angry. He feels frustrated that Jaskier seems to be right back where he started, maybe even worse than when Geralt first brought him to Kaer Morhen.

But then he remembers that morning, before bandits and fights and blood. The morning where Jaskier had held up a potion bottle while smiling, his eyes bright with genuine joy. Pride in himself.

That light was still there, fighting to get out. It has been injured today, but not destroyed. And Geralt had every intention of helping Jaskier to find it again.

He kisses the top of the bard’s head, earning a surprised gasp from Jasker before he curls up a little bit tighter against Geralt. Smiling, the Witcher moves his head so that his cheek rests against Jaskier’s hair, and as he does so, he becomes mindful of the man looking down at him, arms crossed, a potion bottle on his belt. 

“A business arrangement, huh?”

“Fuck off, Lambert.”


End file.
